


A rustle in the night

by hobgoblin123



Category: Coldfire Trilogy - C. S. Friedman
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-09 10:29:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1979433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobgoblin123/pseuds/hobgoblin123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerald is engaged in scientific research. On his own body, with kind assistance of Damien Kilcannon Vryce. Not much of a plot; just slash, written for the fun of it...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A rustle in the night

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the Coldfire Trilogy, and no profit whatsoever is intended.
> 
> A/N: This is another edited version of an older story previously posted on fanfiction.net. Hope you don't mind me posting the very same crap on both sites, lol.

Damien Kilcannon Vryce dreamed. Although the main protagonist of the nocturnal escapades of his mind was a certain former member of the ranks of the undead, it wasn't a nightmare for once which made his blood pressure rise considerably, but quite the contrary. While their owner was devotedly giving him the mother of all love bites, Gerald's long, slender digits were quite busy a little bit further southwards, teasing him beyond his limits of endurance until he thought he would go mad with unsatisfied lust if he didn't find release soon.

Just before reaching the point of no return, the warrior knight came awake with a start. His throbbing erection a vivid reminder of what had happened inside his brain, he fervently hoped that in real life he hadn't been as noisy as in his wet dream. The Prophet of the Law had pointed out that there was no sin in spilling one's seed for non-procreational purposes, least of all if the act occurred involuntarily while being asleep . But this was just grey theory. In all probability, he would never live it down if the very man had witnessed his wanton activities. Tarrant's acerbic tongue certainly would make sure of it.

A strange sound interrupted his train of thought, and he pricked up his ears, all his senses on the alert at a moment's notice. If anything, roundabout one and a half decade of fighting demonlings had helped him to a finely honed survival instinct, and he saw no reason for straying from the tried and tested path of caution at his advanced age. By an unbelievable piece of luck - and the adept's courage and readiness to make the ultimate sacrifice - they had managed to kill humankind's arch enemy Calesta a mere few hours ago. But without a sliver of doubt, there were still enough and to spare nasty creatures on Erna burning to finish off any imprudent traveller.

Holding his breath, the warrior knight forced himself to lay as still as one of the stones on the rocky slopes of Mount Shaitan. There it was again: a very faint, almost instantly stifled sigh, accompanied by a soft rustle of clothes. Alarmed, he looked in the direction of  his companion who was resting an arms length away, the contour of his back being just visible in the dim light of the first rays of dawn. Damn! Maybe Gerald's heart was failing him once again; under the dire circumstances, Healing had been somewhat precarious, to put it mildly, and although he'd been fairly sure that his patient would fully recover, it was possible that he had missed something of vital importance nonetheless. But before he was able to move, the rustling noise became more rhythmical, and Tarrant's breathing sped up.

When it began to dawn on him what was happening right at his side, Vryce cringed with embarrassment. Crap! Obviously, this wasn't a matter of having a heart attack, although by now he felt like getting one himself. As much as he wished otherwise, there was no denying that Gerald's activities were having a somewhat inspiring effect on him. And that he didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell of going back to sleep in his current state.

Well aware that a cold bath wasn't available on the knees of Mount Shaitan, Damien pondered the alternatives. He could take care of the problem himself, hoping that his brother-in-arms would be too absorbed in his own actions to take notice. Option two needed a bit more nerve and daring. All things considered, having a clash with the former Hunter in the small hours of the morning wasn't one of his favourite pastimes. Gerald had been resurrected by the progenitor of the Iezu as a living, breathing human being. But this didn't mean that he couldn't still put up a good fight if challenged. Leniency, let alone reluctance to attack whomever he perceived as a threat to his well-being, certainly didn't belong to his predominant character traits. But would he fend off his advances at all? And if the adept, for whatever reason, went along, could he himself live with the consequences of a lustful romp which might very well change their lives forever?

Damien sighed inwardly. As matters stood, it was high time to face the truth. His initial hatred of the man who had betrayed everything their faith was standing for had changed to compassion, reluctant admiration and even affection long ago. It was an unexpected development for sure, but absolutely nothing to freak out about. Hadn't the Prophet himself taught that the name of the One God was Mercy, and His word Forgiveness? But unfortunately, it hadn't ended here.

Until yesterday, he had been living in steadfast and quite comfortable denial, rationalizing his actions with might and main and even hiding his true feelings from himself under a veneer of feigned animosity. If somebody had presented him with a gold coin for each and every time he had called the Hunter a 'vulking bastard' or a 'son of a bitch', he doubtlessly would have been the wealthiest man on the eastern continent by now. Sometimes, he couldn't help but wondering why a fiercely proud character like the Neocount of Merentha had tolerated the torrent of verbal abuse heaped on him instead of chopping his head off without further ado.

Anyway, his reaction to Tarrant's death on Mount Shaitan had been the first serious indication that things had gotten out of hand. But still he had salved his conscience, assuring himself that crying over the loss of a treasured friend was a necessary part of the grieving process. But then he had offered his own life in exchange for Gerald's without thinking twice, and the scales had finally fallen from his eyes. With Calesta being out of the picture, his companion hadn't been needed anymore for saving mankind from the Iezu's clutches. It would have been so easy to let him die of his heart condition. One swift cut through his carotid artery in order to spare him the terrible fate of choking to death on the water gathering in his lungs, and everything would have been over. Returning to Jaggonath as the valiant hero who had brought the Lord of the Forest to justice, he might have even been reinstated in his position in the church hierarchy with good graces. But one hindrance had blocked this path to him with utmost finality: if ripping out his own heart had been required to save the adept, he would have torn open his chest without hesitation.

_Admit it, you vulking coward,_ the warrior knight thought dejectedly. _This isn't about brotherly affection. Not even about simple sexual attraction. Damien Kilcannon Vryce has fallen in love with Gerald Tarrant. There's no two ways about it, and you'd better come to terms with the facts._

Subconsciously, Damien ducked his head. But the world was still turning, and no flash of lightning struck him down as a punishment for his sin of pining for an ancient entity who had mercilessly tortured and killed innocents for nigh to a millennium. But be that as it may, said entity's point of view on the matter was an altogether different kettle of fish. There was no clear evidence that his own tender feelings were being reciprocated. Admittedly, caught in an ambush, the Hunter had opted for standing by him instead of flying to safety, an act of friendship so unlike him that it had filled his mortal companion with wonder. And Gerald had repeatedly declined his offer to feed on him, relying on a few measly canteens containing cold, disembodied blood during their death march to Shaitan. But this could have been Revivalist honour, gratefulness or simply the rather understandable wish to keep his only human ally on the entire planet alive and kicking. But more? Very unlikely for a former family man and connoisseur concerning women. In his own wicked way, of course.

All at once, the channel came back to life again with a vengeance and flooded his mind with Tarrant's most private thoughts. Confronted with a mental scenario which he hadn't thought possible in his wildest dreams, the warrior knight very nearly choked on his breath. Gerald and he were laying in each others' arms, utterly oblivious to the hardness and cold of the bare stone beneath their naked bodies. Then his lover went on all fours, and in a blink he was behind him, as hard as stone himself, and...

Damien blushed furiously. His one and only experience with another male had happened in his middle teens, involving a boy barely older than himself. After all these years, he but dimly remembered a minute or two spent with mutual masturbation in a deserted corner of the seminary's physic garden. The sheer bliss of the first hand ever touching his cock other than his own had been somewhat ruined by the fear of discovery. But at any rate, the rather harmless, hormone-fuelled escapade of his early days couldn't even remotely hold a candle to what was currently going on in the most brilliant brain he had ever met. Much more shocking than the explicitness of the fantasy in itself was the sudden revelation that Gerald obviously wanted him with a hunger equalling his own, though. As unlikely as it seemed, the feverish longing pouring into him via the mind-link left no room for interpretation.

"If you haven't pondered your options to your heart's content yet, I could send you a written invitation, Vryce.“

His amorous intentions cooled down a notch or two by the haughty condescension in the light tenor, Damien felt inclined to going deaf for a moment. But then the adept turned round and pushed back a corner of his blanket with a come-hither look from under his long lashes which could have broken down a saint, and suddenly he was dead certain that he didn't need another invitation in any form whatsoever. His aching limbs seemingly moving on their own account, he joined Tarrant under his covers, but kept a reasonable safety distance for the time being .

Clear, grey eyes looked at him with sardonic amusement. "Don't be shy, Vryce," the Neocount chuckled. "You may as well come closer. I don't bite."

"That will be a first!" As soon as his quite uncalled-for retort had left his mouth, Damien felt sorely tempted to kick himself. Why the heck couldn't he at least once keep his gab in check? At the end of the day, there was nothing to be said against a bit of good, old-fashioned banter. At the right time and in an appropriate dosage. Bickering with the Hunter more often than not had helped him to keep his mind off the grim future prospects and had consequently saved him from going insane with dread, after all. But adepts were supposed to be a touchy lot, and this one wasn't an exception of the rule. If he didn't tread carefully, he might very well ruin what promised to be the most memorable early morning of his entire life.

Daring an inquisitive glance at the delicate features so very close to him, the warrior knight instantly forgot about his quick tongue and all the other shortcomings his lover-to-be could doubtlessly specify by the dozen. Tarrant's once fine clothes were torn beyond repair, his golden brown hair a tangled mess, and his face was still smeared with volcanic ash and soot. But as far as Damien was concerned, Earth's legendary archangel Lucifer couldn't have looked more tempting even if he had worn a golden crown and the robes of a king. Suddenly, the lithe frame at his side seemed to radiate an unnatural heat setting his own nerve ends on fire, and the bloody blanket had to be woven of the flames of purgatory instead of plain, ordinary wool.

Starting to sweat profusely, the warrior knight dazedly wondered whether he was having a temperature. He had always prided himself on his iron constitution. But as his sickness in the Rakhlands had amply proved, even he wasn't completely immune to catching a germ. Anyway, it wouldn't come as a big surprise with regard to getting soaked to the skin on that miserable crate and the following arduous ride on horse-back. Perhaps it would be best to let the matter rest until he had recovered from whatever was ailing him.

Lost in his thoughts, he very nearly jumped out of his skin when Tarrant moved closer to him and hooked a long leg around his thighs in a rather possessive fashion. "Let's see if we can find something to break your fever, Vryce," the adept purred into his ear. "As you have to assist me with a piece of urgent scientific research, I need you fully functional."

A soft but insistent mouth moved to the curve of his neck, sucking at the taut skin just the way it had done to perfection in his wet dream, and he forgot how to breathe. His blood rapidly rushing to a place definitely disconnected from the higher functions of his brain, Damien simply didn't feel up to solving the latest riddle of the day on his own account. "'A piece of urgent scientific research'?" he repeated hoarsely, well aware that he was sounding nothing so much as a well-trained nuparrot. Or a complete dimwit. But the vulking bastard in the guise of an angel had managed to baffle him once again, a capacity that even death and resurrection apparently couldn't destroy.

 His vis-à-vis graced him with a seductive smile. "Why, after more than nine hundred years of disuse, I have to make sure that certain organs of my body work properly. Surely you don't mind operating as my assistant, do you?"

Evidently, the adept was having a great time pulling his leg. But in a way, Damien could understand him very well. So much more than just Gerald's sexual organs had been put on hiatus since his terrible fall from grace: the ability to feel compassion, pity, even love, whether it be the pure amicitia favoured by their religious authorities or the carnal relations between spouses. And last but not least, the spark of genuine humour utterly devoid of scorn and derision which was clearly audible in his voice now. Heartened by the proof that the man he cherished was indeed back on the right track, the warrior knight decided that it wouldn't hurt to play along. "And how could I be of assistance, I wonder?"

"By fucking me senseless, Vryce," Tarrant said in a husky whisper which caused his hairs to stand on end all over his body. "Now."

Damien blinked. Since their first meeting in the dae in Briand, he hadn't heard the adept uttering a worse profanity than the rather tame 'damned', and even those lapses he could count on one hand. That the very incarnation of aristocratic aloofness and self-control now used the infamous F-word without batting an eyelash - try as he might, he couldn't wrap his head around it. But at the very next moment, Gerald pulled him on top of him with a low, wistful sigh, and he didn't give a damn about appropriate diction any longer. The last vestiges of reason drowning in a veritable ocean of desire, he obeyed. More than once. Just to be safe that a millennium of celibacy hadn't done any lasting damage to his lover, of course.

When they were finally resting in each other's arms, exhausted, glowing and utterly satisfied, a soft ripple of laughter reached Vryce's ears. "Mind telling me what's so funny?“ he inquired curiously.

Tarrant's eyes met his, shining brighter than any celestial body in the night sky, and in spite of his tousled hair and dirty skin, he had never looked more beautiful to Damien. "In view of your undeniable talent for acting my personal assistant, I'm inclined to offer you a more permanent position in my employment," the adept said mischievously. "Could you be tempted to consider my proposal?"

"I might, Gerald. All in good time.“ Grinning, the former priest gave his mate a little peck on the cheek before drifting off into a well-deserved nap. They had bested the forces of hell and a sadistic, power-crazed demon, and with a war on in the Forbidden Forest, only the Lord knew what fate would still have in store for them. But as long as they were facing the future together, everything was well.


End file.
